I Wish That I Was Stronger (I'd Separate The Waves)
by sailormade
Summary: Clay couldn't breathe; He clawed at his throat and heaved for breath, doe eyes wide and panic-stricken, bewildered, while frothy pink spit bubbled from his mouth and dripped down the front of his shirt. / Coda to s2e01, "Fracture." Written for the SEAL Team Secret Santa Exchange.


**A/N: **For SEAL Team Secret Santa 2019 on the SEAL Team Discord! Prompt: Alt Ending to 2x01. Clay's jump from the top of the oil platform ends in serious injuries. Burns/head injury/drowning/spinal injury/trauma - your choice! FOR SNEAKYPEACHES. LOVE YOU LONG TIME.

also ya'll i'm sick as shit, high on cold meds, & living on military time (hooyah navy!) so,, this is as good as something written on a very short time constraint gets lmao

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**CLAY COULDN'T BREATHE; **He clawed at his throat and heaved for breath, doe eyes wide and panic-stricken, bewildered, while frothy pink spit bubbled from his mouth and dripped down the front of his shirt. Sonny didn't understand what was happening. Twenty minutes ago Clay had been perfectly fine, cracking jokes and drinking beer and giving Mandy a hard time about her prim and proper new boyfriend. How could he be on death's door all of a damn sudden?

A knot the size of the great state of Texas swelled in Sonny's throat; He felt like he couldn't breathe either. Or move. Despite how badly he wanted to rush to Clay's side, to do anything at all in his best friend's aid, his feet stayed rooted firmly in place next to his equipment cage. He saw Clay's mouth trying to form words, but no sound came out—just that ungodly pink spit.

Trent bolted across the room to Clay's side. Sonny saw him do so in his peripheral vision. Trent got there in just the nick of time—Clay's knees gave out from beneath him and he crumpled like a well-loved ragdoll. Trent managed to catch Clay before he collapsed completely and helped ease him to his knees. It was then that Sonny took a moment to thank God and Jesus both that Bravo Team managed to snag a SEAL who also used to be a corpsman; Trent's plethora of knowledge in healthcare and emergency medicine, far beyond that of SEAL, had saved their lives more times than any of them cared to count.

"Clay?" Trent asked, kneeling at Clay's side; Somewhere to the left, Ray was rooting around frantically for something in his cage. "Hey, Clay! What's going on, little brother? How can I help?"

A rush of anger swept through Sonny like a wildfire. Why would Trent need to ask Clay what was going on? Was he blind, all of a damn sudden? Couldn't he see that Clay couldn't breathe? And that was turning blue? Christ, no. Clay's lips had already turned; His face was starting to get blue now, too. He couldn't stop hacking up that bloody spit. **He couldn't breathe.**

Clay had to be dying. That was the only explanation, as far as Sonny could tell. In less time than it took for Lieutenant Commander Blackburn to finish a post-mission debrief, Clay went from cracking jokes to circling the drain. Tears stung Sonny's eyes.

After what felt like an eternity, Ray joined Trent on the floor.

"What can I do to help?" Ray asked. "Jay's calling 911."

Jason. Huh. Sonny hadn't even realized that Jason darted out of the room to call an ambulance; His eyes never left Clay's struggling form. That must've been what Ray was hunting for in his equipment cage. . . His phone. Sonny distantly recalled Jason's dying on the flight home.

"What's happening?" Sonny heard himself asking. It didn't sound like his voice at all.

"The rig—" Trent began, far calmer than Sonny could ever forgive. Why wasn't he panicking? Clay couldn't breathe. "He's gotta' be dry drowning. I'm sure of it."

Drowning? How? They were back on land, safe and sound. Clay hadn't complained once since Bravo Team pulled him from the sea. Not even about water in his ears. . .

Sonny swallowed thickly. Fear made his head spin. "Dry drowning? The hell is that?"

"Pretty way of saying pulmonary edema," Trent continued. "He's got fluid in his lungs. It's got to be from jumping off that damn rig. He had to hit the water from over eighty feet up."

Sonny watched Trent slide two fingers into Clay's mouth and clear as much spit out of the way as he could. Clay wheezed for breath still, grasped at Ray's hand as though it were a lifeline.

"Lean forward," Trent said, gently maneuvering Clay into a position where it was easier to breathe; On his knees, bent forward. "Deep, deep breaths, Clay. I know it hurts. Keep breathing for me. Bus is on the way, little brother."

Tears tracked down Clay's pale, blue tinted face. Sonny's heart fractured in his chest. Clay looked so young. How could a Tier One Operator look so young?

"It's okay," Ray said. "Trent's right. Help is almost here. You'll be good as new in no time. I promise."

Don't make promises you can't keep. Sonny thought, not without a hint of ire.

He was irritated at himself, mostly; The rest of Bravo were surrounding Clay, helping him as much as they possibly could, and comforting him where they couldn't. Sonny still stood where he'd been standing when Clay first started struggling. He hadn't done a single goddamn thing. But, Christ, what could he do? What could Trent do, even? Clay had fluid in his lungs. No one short of a doctor could save Clay now.

Sonny felt like he was drowning on dry land, too. Could heartbreak give a person a pulmonary edema, or whatever the hell it was? Could a person's lungs fill with grief? He gave Clay a lot of shit, pulled his metaphorical pigtails, but Clay was his best friend. His favorite person on the goddamn planet. He couldn't lose him. Not now. Not after everything that they'd survived together—which, even for SEALs, had been substantial.

Sonny wasn't the man who panicked. Sonny was the lighthouse, guiding wayward ships home; He was a good man in a storm. So why was he was standing around, useless, a statue, while the rest of his team helped Clay navigate through the panic and pain?

Hmf. Some friend that he was. Clay was his best friend, beyond a shadow of a doubt, but could Clay call Sonny his?

It wasn't too long after that, maybe a grand total of four minutes, that the EMTs arrived. They ran in with Jason hot on their heels, barking orders and shooing Trent, Ray, and Brock away, and whisked Clay away on a gurney. Sonny didn't even get a chance to say goodbye. Or apologize. Or reassure Clay that he'd be okay. Or that he wasn't alone, at the very least. Sonny remained rooted in place, as he had through the whole ordeal.

Jason went with Clay. Sonny wasn't surprised. Jason was more protective than Clay than he'd ever admit; But who could blame him? Clay, as talented and sharp-minded as he was, was young; He was still very green to the teams and that could get him killed very easily. Jason would never forgive himself if something happened to Clay on his watch; Or hell, even off his watch.

"Sonny?" Ray asked from somewhere to Sonny's left. He sounded a little shaken. "You okay, brother?"

Sonny nodded. The action felt involuntary and automatic. As though he were a machine.

"It isn't me you should be asking." He heard himself say. "I still don't... What happened?"

"Dry drowning," Trent said gently; He sounded tired. Old. "It's rare, but it happens. When Clay jumped from the oil rig, he got water in his lungs. And us flying back only made it worse. It's a miracle he started choking now, though, instead of at home where he couldn't have gotten help. I know it was hard to watch, but he should be okay, Son'. He's already on his way to the hospital. And Lord knows Jason will make sure those EMTs don't make so much as poke him wrong."

Sonny nodded, feeling numb.

"I'm gonna' get the okay from Blackburn," Ray said. "And then we'll meet him and Jace at the hospital, okay?"

"Yeah," Sonny replied. "Sounds good."

It didn't sound good at all.


End file.
